Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock
Back Out
Sherlock was almost ashamed of the relief that flooded him at John's words, but he kept his face neutral.
"I have never fainted. I fell and was rendered unconscious."
"I'm sure that's how you'll tell it," John said. "Either way, the fall gave you a minor concussion. I would normally recommend a few days rest, but, well, it's you."
"Rest is out of the question," Sherlock said, clambering unsteadily to his feet. "We have a long night's work ahead of us. My net is closing around what remains Moriarty's organization." The detective strode toward the door with only a few wobbles. "Until tonight we can spend an afternoon at the flat catching up on…"
Sherlock's voice faded as he turned to see John, still standing by the hospital bed.
"John? What's—"
"Sorry, I'm…" John looked away and shook his head. "I can't go with you. I've got work."
"But surely it can—"
"No, Sherlock. I can't just go back to the flat with you. I don't live there anymore. It's not my life now. This is…" John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I think I need some time. Can we meet tomorrow, maybe?"
"Of course," Sherlock said, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. Then, not sure what else to do, he walked away.